


Hermione, Mistress

by LR_Earl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Necromancy, Sex Magic, Succubus, Supernatural Objects, dramione - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 21:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12466004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LR_Earl/pseuds/LR_Earl
Summary: Hermione picks up a fellow traveler on the path to depravity.





	Hermione, Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> My Prompt: Draco wasn't dead. He couldn't be. And if he were, Hermione was going to make sure he didn't stay that way. She would bring him back, no matter the cost.
> 
> Beta Love: Many thanks to Mahawna who graciously and promptly helped me with this fic. XX
> 
> Enjoy!

 

**I.**

**April 1998**

Hermione Granger knew the moment the ornate, yet rusted, chalice grazed her skin that something _unsettling_ had occurred. It was as if something sinister had slithered up her arm to settle between her heart and her lungs. But there was little time to dwell on the moment as she, Ron, and Harry waded through the expanse of Bellatrix LeStrange’s vault at Gringott’s in search of the horcrux she _knew_ to be there.

There hadn’t been much to make of the ill-fated contact after that.

Not recognizing the moment that would forever change her life, Hermione didn’t pause to appreciate those few seconds. The strange encounter fell to the recesses of her mind and in quick succession, she was off to win a war.

But the lingering unease that started at her wrist, where the chalice made contact, never left. Through the Battle of Hogwarts, the uncomfortable weight that hard crawled up her arm, now sat heavily in her chest. Every day, the weight bloomed and spread, as if it were settling in, taking root.. As a result, a temperamental sensation would flit through her blood at the strangest of times.

She was cold as ice during the July ceremony when she had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. She would be sweltering, overcome with heat no more than two days later.

Looking back on it, she realized the heat had started during the Death Eater trials.

Hermione had been sitting next to Ron as both offered moral support to Harry, who testified on Narcissa and Draco’s behalf, when the odd sensation bloomed to life after lying dormant for so long.

Across the crowd, she lifted her gaze to meet the haunted eyes of Draco Malfoy as he was escorted into the room. Her stomach nearly folded upon itself, as a result.

 _Want,_ a strained voice, a woman’s voice, hissed in desperation within the confines of her mind. She clutched at her knees in confusion and … desire?

Ron smiled and asked if she was alright, but Hermione hardly noticed. She was transfixed by her former schoolmate. The voice within apparently was as well.

Malfoy hadn’t changed much since she’d last seen him at the final battle in May. He was still as prideful as ever, even as calls for the “Kiss” raged around him.

Hermione unconsciously wet her lips as the sensation fluttered and shimmied against the boundary of her skin. Her heartbeat spiked, and she was sure her pupils were dilated as she focused on the young man sitting primly on the raised dais.

What was wrong with her?

 _Neeeddd,_ the woman pleaded as Hermione’s cotton knickers grew damp.

“Excuse me, Ron,” she offered breathlessly as she stood from the bench. She had to get out of there. “I need to leave...” She didn’t care if others witnessed her abrupt departure from the chamber, but something told her she needed to run.

She would later learn that one could never run from what lingered within.

She missed Malfoy curiously following her every move.

 

**II.**

Two months later, Hermione found out _what_ had been causing her to lose her scruples.

 _I knew you’d figure it out, child,_ the woman praised from her conscious as she chuckled darkly.

Hermione closed the ancient tome and sat at the small kitchen table in her and Ron’s shared flat. She closed her eyes as the beginning of a headache started, feebly wishing this was a terrible dream. She refused to utter the word aloud, but she was quite sure when she had come into contact with that chalice, she had picked up … a fellow traveler.

The woman’s laugh exacerbated her headache. _A succubus, child. Do not be afraid to say it._

Hermione would not respond, hanging her last hope on the fact that if she ignored it, then it would go away.

 _I’ve grown quite comfortable since you’ve freed me from my prison. It’s been awhile since I’ve had one so young,_ the woman said quite matter-of-factly. _And you cannot say you haven’t_ **_enjoyed_ ** _my company._

Hermione stood from the table as she busied herself with distracting odds jobs around the apartment. The succubus was not wrong in that regard. That night after Draco’s trial, Hermione had shagged Ron into stupor. Her unsuspecting boyfriend was blissfully unaware of the supernatural entity urging them both into oblivion as she rode him well into the next morning. He was bewildered on how his refractory period had all but disappeared as Hermione used the redhead for her pleasure, no _the woman’s_ pleasure, over and over again.

The next morning, when Ron praised her skill, or murmured her name in worship, Hermione grew sick with regret. She knew he wasn’t worshipping her, but the _thing_ that had settled between her bones. She wasn’t that skilled a lover, but the things she had done …

 _I grow tired of your lover. He brings us no joy,_ the woman pouted internally as if she was ready to move on.

Ron wasn’t _meant_ to bring the woman joy. Hermione loved him. She slammed a cabinet door harder than necessary at that admission.

 _And yet, you are bored_ , the woman stated matter-of-factly. _Bound here by mediocrity and a sense of duty, when you long for adventure and … a taste of the dark._

Hermione quickly halted as she found her reflection in a hallway mirror. Just there, the barest hint of a smirk came through.

_Ah, I’ve touched a nerve, haven’t I?_

Hermione gave in and spoke to her reflection, and the woman who occupied her skin beneath. “Leave me alone,” she warned lowly.

_I have seen inside your mind, child. There is a darkness you hide under the cover of bravery. I’ve seen what you want. I can help you to achieve it._

Hermione shook her head, too stunned to argue back. How could one argue with the truth?

_But if I am to help you achieve your greatest dream, I require power. I need more…._

Hermione bit her bottom lip as her womb clenched in traitorous agreement. Of course, a succubus drew strength from sex.

_Yes, yes... You know what you must do. Find them and collect them... They belong to us…_

 

**III.**

Come October, Hermione had slipped even closer to the point of no return. She supposed her descent into depravity started the moment her relationship with Ron had disintegrated into ruin. Desperately, she had argued with him to stay, but he declared her depraved in her dark desires. He would not share her willingly with another man, or men. He called her names she would not repeat and left for the Burrow.

The woman laughed as he walked out of her life.

For weeks, she found temporary solace in the company of unknown men. Young and hurting, she clung to shadows as she tried to replace the increasing ache that would _not_ go away no matter how hard she tried.

All the while, she researched, she visited magical scholars, she tested potions found in the corners of Knockturn Alley in search of answers, but still the woman would not leave. The ache would not dissipate.

As a creek slices through rock, Hermione’s stream of consciousness began to blend with the woman’s until the line between the two magical beings blurred irreparably.  

On the 30th of October, Hermione found herself dining alone at the Leaky Cauldron. Grabbing ahold of that morning’s _Prophet,_ she skimmed the headlines until she came upon one that made her grip her drink in anger.

_“Malfoy Heir to be Kissed!”_

Hermione didn’t know what made her grab her cloak and Apparate to 12 Grimmauld Place on the spot. She found Harry bleary-eyed from the late hour, but welcoming. He wearily explained that the Wizengamot had been harsh in its sentencing, not wanting any trace of Voldemort left upon their emerging world.

Harry had tried to delay the sentence, but it was carried out before he could stop it.

Hermione seethed in righteous anger as the woman within quieted. Taking a hold of her wand, she Apparated to Malfoy Manor, upset, wildly delirious from a lack of sleep, and yet, oddly determined.

She ignored the ache within the seat of her womb the entire way.

 

**IV.**

Narcissa Malfoy had surprisingly granted her entrance into the Manor. With its Lord dead and its Heir gone, the stone Manor seemed especially dark on the eve of Halloween.

“May I come in?” Hermione asked, not entirely sure if the witch would let her.

But she did.

Hermione quietly offered her condolences to the tired witch as her blood boiled anew. “Draco and I were not close during school, but he did not deserve this fate,” she resolutely offered as the two witches stood in the grand foyer.

Narcissa bit her lip, but inclined her head at the sentiment. “You are one of the few who’ve stopped by to express similar thoughts. Most thought Draco deserving of such a punishment.”

Hermione crossed her arms in front of herself. War taught her there were no true winners or losers. In the end, everyone lost something along the way. Encouraged by the woman in the seat of her consciousness, Hermione timidly asked, “May I pay my final respects in person?”

Narcissa arched a delicate brow, but eventually nodded.

Hermione found him lying in repose on his bed. The remains of her Slytherin rival was tucked into his childhood bed as if he were sleeping.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Narcissa said to her back as she left Hermione to her thoughts. The shut door echoed within the cavernous room.

 _Such a pity to take one so young and so handsome_ , the woman lamented internally.

Hermione could freely admit it. The young man’s soul was gone. “Yes, he was handsome, wasn’t he?”

_As almost as if he were asleep…_

Ice flooded her veins with the stark realization as a familiar passage on succubi returned to the forefront of her mind. “You can feed off those in their sleep,” Hermione whispered the accusation to her fellow traveler.

_I can._

“Could you find Malfoy? His soul may be lost, but his body remains. Could it be awakened?” Hermione whispered to herself as the grandfather clock ticked away empty seconds. She waited ...

 _There is a cost,_  the woman said simply.

“Tell me what it is,” Hermione ordered as honey-colored eyes swept along the length of the prone boy. The theories were perplexing. “Tell me,” Hermione hissed impatiently.

_I cannot restore a soul, but as long as there is blood in his veins, I can call to his most basest of desires._

Hermione slowly approached the bed. “The cost?” she asked again as the woman slid languidly across her bones. Hermione shifted on her feet as her neck grew warm. Other parts grew warm as well.

 _You ask the wrong question, child._ The woman laughed. _You should be asking what is the benefit to you?_

Hermione could not bring herself to ask the question though she was tempted to know. The possibilities were endless...

_He carries powerful blood, child. He will give us much. Take his hand into your own._

As if under the _Imperious_ , Hermione did so. Malfoy’s hand was cool to the touch, but he did not stir. She awkwardly climbed into the high bed, as her fellow traveler bade her to, until she sat astride her former classmate.

Suddenly, her cloak and clothes became stifling. She glanced down at the kissed boy, a question between her brow.

Malfoy couldn’t be lost. He couldn't be. And if he was, Hermione was going to make sure he didn't stay that way. She would bring him back, no matter the cost.

His hand still in hers, her finger drew nondescript patterns into the palm of his hand as the woman took command of her body.. Runes, Hermione belatedly realized, as the woman’s voice poured like honey from her mouth, “Rise, House of Malfoy, I call to you.”

Hermione lifted his still hand to cup the swell of her breast. “Rise, House of Malfoy, I call you,” she repeated, as a twitch jerked one side of his face.

“Forever thine,” Hermione sighed as a hand closed over her clothed breast. “For all time.”

There would be no going back from this as the woman hissed the rights, eager to ease the ache that would not dissipate.

Hermione breathed the final words, “Forever … mine. Yes,” she moaned as she leaned into the firm touch. A cold hand slipped beneath her shirt and kneaded the supple flesh as she reached down to take off the offending garment.

That was when Malfoy opened his eyes. There was cold recognition in his clear grey irises, but there was heat, too, as the succubus’ power drew them together.

The woman quietly guided Hermione into her first sexual awakening as she rode Malfoy, who swore viciously the moment she took him into the heat of her. There was no confusion, or questions, as he lifted Hermione to slam her down onto his aching cock, inexplicably straining for release.

Hermione ground down onto him, selfishly searching for something only Malfoy could give, as darkness, heavy and thick, poured from the base of her neck. Like a thick coat of honey, it enveloped every inch of her, from the fingertips clawing at Malfoy’s chest to her thighs clenching him to her.

Malfoy threw his head back and hissed as the darkness overtook him, too, helpless to stop it. The words were wrenched from his throat. “Mistresss,” he groaned beneath her.

Unnaturally pleased at the title, Hermione coaxed the first of many orgasms from her former classmate with a smile. She shivered in delight as come, warm and plentiful, drenched her womb.

“ _Yes_ ,” Hermione and the woman gasped in ecstasy, though both were nowhere near finished with the Malfoy heir just yet. With a firm, but possessive swipe across his chest, she brought him to attention once more.

Eyes hooded and will lost, Malfoy smirked as he languidly lifted his hips to meet hers, setting a decadent pace that would last through the night… and beyond.

 

**V.**

**31 October, 1999**

Draco was paler than Hermione remembered, but that didn’t matter. He was hers. After she claimed the Malfoy heir for her own, their world went into collective shock. Hermione had essentially raised a man from the ‘dead’, and most found the pair unnatural. They called her ‘necromancer’ and the like.

She did not care a wit.

The bliss her lover, her slave, brought was enough to keep her sated amidst the whirling controversy. In the aftermath, she found it impossible to return to the flat she had shared with Ron. Draco offered her the Manor instead.

While gothic in decor, Hermione found it alluring in a way. Narcissa did not mind the sullied company. She was all too happy to have her son ‘back’, although Draco was a shade of his former self. Though his soul was lost, Draco possessed a freedom no one else could attain.  Where others were ruled by emotion or bound by humanity, Draco was not. He did not need subsistence as any other human did. He didn’t need to sleep, and he drank and ate very little. He simply existed … to please her, apparently.

And he did, most thoroughly.

Hermione stood nude on the balcony outside of their shared room. Under the pale moonlight, she drowned under heavy thoughts.

 _Yes, my child,_ the woman gloated, confident her host had finally seen the light. Hermione considered the possibilities and the loose fag in her hand as the balcony door opened behind her.

Taking the fag from her, Draco took a long drag. He kissed her bare shoulder before blowing a stream of warm smoke by her ear. He was eager to please his mistress on this day; their anniversary, he called it. Though he, too, sensed his mistress’ shifting mood as of late.

“Hmm, you are insatiable tonight,” Hermione smirked as a touch teased up the length of her thigh to settle between her legs. Draco teased her thatch of curls sticky and wet with his essence.  

“As I am every night.”

He was her constant companion and yet, Hermione found herself yearning for… more. More than a year after she’d brought the Malfoy heir back, Hermione stood nude on a balcony just outside.

She sighed partly in content, partly in longing. “Something’s been missing, haven’t you noticed?” Hermione lamented as she observed the expansive grounds of Malfoy Manor. Even the animals were quiet on Halloween.

“Is my Mistress no longer pleased with me?” Draco carefully situated her in his lap as he leaned on the marble railing. He pouted into her chest. “I must try harder.”

Hermione squirmed sweetly against his ministrations as she ran a gentle hand through fine hair.  “You are my first, and will always be, but there is much more of me to give. Do you understand? I need your help, Draco.” She waited to see what he would say. Would he mind sharing her? Ron had left her for it. She wasn’t sure how an ‘undead’ man would react to others sharing their bed.

The stoic young man was pensive for a few moments before an absolutely wicked smile broke through. “Mistress, what do you know about Theo Nott?”

 _There is so much more that awaits us,_ the woman promised internally as Hermione lowered to possessively capture Draco’s awaiting lips.

_Finally, you are ready._


End file.
